


The Party Doesn't Start Without Him

by orphan_account



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: All the time, Jonathan just waits, M/M, Steve POV, Steve has parties in his head, Stonathan - Freeform, Stonathan Week 2017, the brat pack make their appearances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 16:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13057707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Every time Steve has his moment with Jonathan, a little party seems to explode in his head. Most of the time, he is interrupted or cuts himself short. That is until Jonathan steals the moment from him.





	The Party Doesn't Start Without Him

**Author's Note:**

> Stonathan Week 2017
> 
> Day 1: Raise Your Glasses!  
> (Admittedly, I have based it loosely on the idea of celebration. I hope you don't mind.)

** 5 Instances where Steve’s Celebrations were Cut Short and 1 where it wasn’t. **

 

 

 

> 1\. At a Monster Fight

Steve stared in awe – okay he was terrified, confused and absolutely needed more than one explanation – but he couldn’t deny it, they, no, _he_ , was incredible. They huddled together in the dark hallway of the Byer’s household, dying flames licking and burning the carpet mere metres in front of them.

A stench of rotten flesh putrefied the air, filling it with both a pungent smell and strange flakes of ashy pollen. Steve barely registered the pained cries and bellows of the monstrosity ensnared by the flames, instead focused on the head of dark blonde in front of him.

He never thought of this boy having such instincts or intelligence. He was just a freak, some unconfident, quiet and alienatingly aloof boy who haunted the damn school hallways. There was absolutely no way that this weirdo and the girl of his current dreams teamed together, brains and all, to devise a plan and defeat that hell beast.

_He would usually just stand there and take the beating, the humiliation, the abuse._

The flames died, leaving nothing but a darker stain on the carpet, a jagged cut of flesh in the bear trap the only other physical piece of evidence left. It disappeared.

The lights flicker and flash dangerously, ominously making their way down the hallway and out the house. They followed it out the front door and held their breaths as the lamp on the front lawn blinked in and out.

Watching the light return to its usual, warming glow, they all breathed a sigh of relief, their joints unlocking, muscles loosening, fingers twitching to recover much-needed blood flow.

Steve just couldn’t believe it. But first—

 “I need a fucking drink and an explanation,” he grumbled, fingers clutched tightly around the nail-filled bat Jonathan had thrown him as the momentary rush of adrenaline left his sore body.

The next words deepened his confusion (and, though he would never admit this, left a flutter of excitement in the pit of his stomach).

“You’re drinking nothing but water and that was the thing that took my brother,” a strangely soft and husky voice replied. It took Steve and his rattled mind a few seconds to realise that it was too deep to be Nancy’s. Meaning…

“You do talk!” he crowed happily, hoisting the bat to rest on his shoulder as a goofy grin spread across his face. He hid a wince as it tugged on a split lip, but none the matter.

“Nance, he talks!”

She had turned away from the stupidly happy boy beside her, making her way (albeit shakily) towards the kitchen where the stuttered sound of water rushing and the clicking of glasses sounded. The boys’ eyes followed her, but Steve was quick to have lost his attention, turning to the smaller male by his side, curbing his desire to ruffle said male’s hair and do other awkwardly intimate things.

“You’ve recovered fast,” Jonathan said, though with his voice, Steve thought it but a whisper.

“I’m doing what I always do, Byers: Meet, judge and swing.”

Nancy eventually returned with glasses of water and wet towels. She pushed the glasses into their hands, eyebrows arched in a silent command for them to drink. The towel was lightly slapped into Steve’s face and kindly placed in Jonathan’s hands (Steve’d later complain about injustices and biases).

“Clean up and celebrate later Steve, we’ve got to go check on something.”

* * *

 

 

 

> 2\. At a Human Fight

He couldn’t fucking believe it.

He didn’t care about being King of high school, he didn’t give a shit about the fucking keg records and nor did he bother with the constant alpha-male show during basketball practice. His reputation and place within a pathetic small-town high school’s hierarchy meant little to him.

But this?

Billy Asshole Hargrove had Jonathan pushed up against the alley wall, his collar pulled painfully to one side as a tanned forearm rested menacingly at his throat.

For what? Steve had no idea, but judging by the mutterings of ‘pathetic zombie freak’, ‘trouble’ and ‘Max’, it wasn’t anything Jonathan needed in his life.

“Hey shit stain – Hargrove,” Steve hollers from the opening of the alleyway, interrupting whatever one-sided conversation was going on. Billy reared his ugly head, turned, and grinned manically at the sight of Steve.

“The King pissed that I took his usual pickings?” he sneered. The forearm pressing into Jonathan’s throat pushed harder, effectively choking him as he had turned, in a mixed show of confusion and concern, to glance at Steve. Billy jostled again and Steve realised that he had his other hand pressed flat against the boy’s chest, pinning him in place.

“Heard this one is a freak, barely speaks and takes any type of beating. Let me have my fun. You mind, Harrington?”

For a moment, Steve was guilty. Memories of a shattering camera, thoughts of a thudding against a locker and the echoes of a fist forcing pained grunts reminding him of what Jonathan had faced. What Steve had forced Jonathan to face.

Sure, Steve had apologised. He’d paid for a new and better camera. He’d stayed with Nancy and Jonathan in the darkroom every lunchtime. He’d abandoned what he’d previously seen as good friends to establish more meaningful bonds with a quick-witted girl and equally clever but conversely silent boy.

And he knew that Jonathan was relaxing in his presence. Sort of.

Steve must have lingered in his thoughts for a bit too long as the next thing he realises is a burst of pain against his cheek and the burn of asphalt against his palms. Billy had punched him, stalked away from Jonathan and landed a hit on Steve to send him onto his back.

“You were no better than me. At least I’m just having a few choice words with this freak,” Billy crouched by Steve’s startled form and growled.

His eyes widened and he scrambled to twist away as a lithe form clad in blacks and greys, headed with a ridiculous mop of dark blond, crashed into Billy. What followed was an enraged shout and a single beat in the face.

From what Steve could see, Billy was stunned, staring both disgustingly mirthful and impressed at Jonathan perched above him, and fist raised and ready to strike again.

“Fuck off, Hargrove,” Jonathan grumbles, seemingly unaffected by Billy’s expression.

Laughter rang and thickened the already slimy and creeping atmosphere.

Billy pushed himself up, a forceful push throwing Jonathan into the gravel. In another strange show of agility and athleticism that neither Billy nor Steve expected to see from Jonathan Byers of all people, he twisted and dug his palms into the ground, somehow coming to stand gracefully and ready for whatever Billy intended to do.

Steve felt that sense of excitement building within him once again and clumsily shoves himself off the ground. He wanted to punch the air and celebrate at Jonathan’s change in behaviour, his apparent ability to defend himself. He wanted to run and hug the boy, drag him off to see Nancy in an irrational form of show-and-tell.

It bubbled in his throat and just as he was about to happily cry at Jonathan’s growing confidence, curly straw blond interrupted his line of sight.

“Well, the freak can fight back!”

Jonathan doesn’t say anything, but the downward tug of his lips and subtle clenching of fists spoke enough.

* * *

 

 

 

> 3\. At a Camera’s Flash

It is Christmas morning and somehow, the Brat Pack (as Steve lovingly referred to _his_ kids) had dragged the sleep ragged group consisting of himself, Nancy and Jonathan, to join their strange festivities. They had raided the Wheeler’s household and set up camp in the basement, (as if they hadn’t already) decorating the room with tinsel, baubles, fake snow and lord knows what other Christmas features there were.

(Everyone noticed the lack of Christmas lights and made no comment, knowing that either one of the Byers brothers could snap. Yeah, no one knew if this was still a sensitive topic.)

Dustin and Lucas had managed to shuffle a few more tables into the basement, arguing all the way as they filled every wooden corner up with plates of sweets and Christmas things (and Eggos for El); while Mike and Will had covered the floor in beanbags and cushions for every teenager and child to sit on. On the far side of the room, where light crept in through narrow windows slit across the ceiling, were Max and El, hanging up some red and green sign, shouting the name of the festive season.

The Brat Pack was doing what they did best – making some kind of a mess.

Steve stood at the end of the stairs, a soft smile adorning his face.

The older three had become the odd parental figures, watching and admiring the achievements that their children had made in the past year. This was their way of celebrating, of cementing the bubble of joy they had created over the year. They deserved this, he thought, especially with what they had gone through together. They deserved this pocket of happiness.

He then became drawn to the two other characters in the room. Nancy, sweet Nancy, danced about, between the kids, laughing and, in turn, making others laugh. She tinkered around the food spread out on the table, a hand rested gently on both Dustin and Lucas’ shoulders before skipping towards El and Max, pointing adjustments to decorations. Steve followed her movements till she ruffled both Will and Mike’s hair, laughter bursting at their reactions.

But he is taken by Jonathan Byers.

The boy was at his most active, his most confident. Although he was hidden behind his new camera, he was smiling – something real, something rare.

He flitted about the room, much like Nancy did, snapping an odd picture of one or more of the kids. They posed or laughed whenever Jonathan walked by.

Like the few other times before, Steve wanted to run up and cheer for Jonathan – for his finding of a safe space, for his reaching out to form friendships, for his growing ability to smile, laugh and live. For being so _alive._

He wanted this boy to remain happy, preciously so.

Steve must have been a sight because a sudden silence blanketed the basement, nothing worrisome or dreadful, a silence which indicated that everyone was watching and waiting for what would happen next. Having made a full circle around the room, Jonathan had returned to face Steve, camera held in front of his face, ready to snap.

A shutter of the camera.

The biggest grin Steve had ever seen on Jonathan Byers.

He’s pretty sure his heart had skipped a beat, his lungs had lost its air and something in his soul was complete. By god, he knew that his desire to celebrate was curbed by that gentle ache in the heart – something Steve had no clue over what it was.

~~A bubbling affection, not that he’d admit.~~

* * *

 

 

 

> 4\. At a Full Night’s Sleep

Steve wouldn’t be the only one to admit that sleep no longer came easily. Ever since the burning of that beast, he had struggled with the dark, with sleep, with any shadow that crept in the very edges of his vision.

For the first few nights after the unforgettable incident, Steve had found himself walking a tightrope which led towards insanity. He was struggling, barely able to close his eyes without hearing the squelch of the monstrous mouth, without seeing the traumatic flickering of lights as the creature dragged its rotten body towards them, without tasting decay and pure hatred in the air as it burned and cursed at _their_ very existence.

He’d wake up with a scream caught in his throat, whimpering instead as he buried himself under his pillows and blankets.

In his state of sleep deprivation, he had snuck out of his home and snuck into Nancy’s. They had spent the first night staring out the window, guarding each other against what they believed to be imminent danger. The second and third night were the first steps to relaxing, a slow stream of small talk (“Are you alright? Do you think… How do we?”) filled the silence.

Neither were able to get more than an hour sleep.

By the end of the week, Nancy had urged Steve to visit Jonathan. They’d barely seen him at school, let alone heard from him since the death of the creature and concurrent return of his brother.

Steve had left his home earlier, hoping to jog his way towards the Byers’ residence and climb into Jonathan’s room unnoticed. He had packed a small bag with his clothes and books for the next school day, praying and hoping that Jonathan would let him stay the night.

~~Would let him _protect_ for the night. ~~

Upon approaching the lonely home nestled at the opening of the woods, Steve slowed to a hurried walk, rustling branches and leaves as he made his way to Jonathan’s bedroom window. A quick knock on the window and—

Steve barely had time to think before the barrel of a shotgun was levelled at his face, Jonathan fucking Byers resting the weapon on his shoulder, finger clutched at the trigger.

The gun lowered, warily, uncertainly.

“Can I… Can I come in?” Steve looked up at the younger boy, strangely transfixed on the dark blonde hair, highlighted a soft gold by the lighting from the bedroom behind. A curt nod and Steve let himself in, legs clumsy and shaky as he pulled himself through.

Were it another time, less tense, less frightened, less cautious, Steve would have celebrated. (He did, at the back of his head, in the fathoms of his mind. He did a little victory dance at the thought of _Jonathan Byers_ letting him through the window, a sign of friendship, _their_ friendship.)

Any thoughts of cheer are erased when Steve settled in the room. Jonathan is there, knees tucked into his body as he curls into himself on the bed. The shotgun lay abandoned by the bed while he stared at his feet, so small, so vulnerable, so young.

Steve doesn’t stop himself at the pitiful sight and shuffled onto the bed, wrapping his arms around the body.

They spend the night like this, wrapped around each other, neither waking from nightmares, neither hyper-vigilant nor guarding through the hours.

* * *

 

 

 

> 5\. At a First Glance

On the first day of his second-year high school, Steve had planned to put himself at the very peak of the student hierarchy, others be damned. He had learnt from a young age, with some harsh teaching from his bastard of a father, that in order to progress in life, he had to take the hard road. He had to be the bully to not get bullied.

~~(Bullshit, he later tells himself, arms curled protectively around a boy he loved. But all is forgiven, not forgotten, for it made up who they were.)~~

He had shaken any nerves within his system by flashing his brand new BMW, tucked wisps of his head of hair behind his ears and pulled on a smile. Confidence, Steve thought, was the key to reigning in friends. It was the most important step to building his circle in this school. Without friends, he would be defenceless and open to any attack.

Headed to his locker, muttering the numbers over and over again, Steve watches as a boy clad in obvious hand-me-downs shuffled down the school hallways, ignoring every single student around him. This kid avoided every possible nudge of the shoulder, every chance of eye contact – everything.

Steve smiled to himself at the sight of this kid – the perfect high school prey. People who already feared the new school grounds were the best individuals to either use as lackeys or use as stepping stones towards a higher playing field. From the way the boy looked, however, thin and rather short, it seemed as if he’d be the latter.

He celebrated in his head, so damn happy that he had found an easy way up, an easy way to assert his dominance over _his_ school. Once he had shown his power, everything else came flowing in. Friends. Girls. Parties. Sports Captain Positions. The lot.

Steve purposefully strode towards the boy, adjusting his walking path to ensure some form of collision.

When they do collide with the painful ramming of shoulders, Steve steeled himself and watched as the boy stumbled on his feet and fell backwards, landing on his butt. Steve made sure to sneer down at the boy, eyebrow arched and voice low – threatening.

“Watch where you’re going, freak,” he said, swallowing the guilt and self-hatred tearing within him.

Instead of cowering further or scrambling to hide away, the boy looked up at Steve. No, he glared. His eyes were keen, a sharp and piercing brown which hid none of his acumen and _confidence_ in himself. On one hand, this shocked Steve. This was an unexpected challenge, a boy who hid his true nature in a shell of isolation.

On this other, it pissed him off.

“Get the fuck out of my face before I knock you away.”

* * *

 

 

 

>  +1. At a First Kiss

(Following from ‘At a Full Night’s Sleep)

They wake the next morning, loose-limbed and rested. Steve woke up first, stretching his arms high above his head as a jaw-cracking yawn ebbed from within him. He doesn’t open his eyes yet, opting to relish the warm body curled up beside him, the soft cotton draped across his form.

This was idyllic, a tranquil morning that he had never thought he’d find again. What more, was that he had gotten a dreamless sleep.

His first proper sleep since _that._

The moment of serenity is broken when Steve realised that there was a body beside him in a bed that wasn’t his and it definitely was not Nancy’s place. There was no alarm ringing continually while a tiny frame grumbled and shuffled to get out of bed. There was no whisper of flowers dancing in the air, nor any sight of pastel colours when Steve cracked open his eyes.

This wasn’t Nancy’s.

Steve jolted awake, eyes blinking open, arms thrust behind him to hold himself up. He surveyed his surroundings, taking in the mess of records piled next to a record player, the mountain of books threatening to collapse, the posters, the clothes, the—

The body next to him groaned and drapes an arm across Steve’s lap, nose now buried into his side.

By reflex, Steve’s hand dropped to brush through the mop of dark blond, a mix of affection and happiness coursing through his veins at the sight of _his_ boy. Jonathan was still asleep and desperately clinging onto unconsciousness.

The exhaustion and anxiety from last night had left the younger’s body, leaving nothing but smooth, milky skin and adorably rumpled bed-hair.  

This boy, Jonathan, was starting something in his heart. He was holding it, tenderly, in his hands while racing a mile a minute down a jagged mountainside. He was whispering sweet nothings to it, while a raging storm thundered above them. He was waiting for Steve, pushing for an emotional response that Steve just never saw coming.

The said boy muttered something in his sleep before turning to his back and opening his eyes.

Judging by the quick widening and frustratingly endearing confusion on Jonathan’s face, he and Steve were thinking the same thing.

_What the fuck?_

And;

_Jesus Christ that was a good sleep._

At this point, Steve doesn’t stop the growing warmth within his chest. He doesn’t force it into a container, to hide in the depths of his soul. He pulled himself from beneath the sheets and throws a leg over Jonathan’s prone form, effectively straddling the younger boy, trapping him to the bed.

Steve leaned down, a firework of giddiness and joy sending pleasant shivers up and down his spine. Jonathan doesn’t push him away, nor does he respond. For a moment, they were a hair’s width apart, breathing the same air, eyes shifting from one to another – waiting; hoping.

Surprisingly it is Jonathan who yanked Steve down, crushing their lips together.

Inside, Steve celebrates. He dances and sings and leaps and cheers. He reached up to clutch Jonathan’s cheek, caressing and deepening their kiss.

_Finally._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, this is unbetaed and written on a whim. I had no idea whether I'd participate until a few hours ago and just... wrote. I will come back to edit and refine this work. Please leave criticism and other pointers if you want to!
> 
> Hope you guys like it!


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